I told my companion at table that whilst visiting one of the hospitals in France I had heard how one Englishman had been sent into a far hospital in Provence by mistake.  He was not seriously injured and promptly constituted himself king of the ward.  On arrival he insisted on being shaved.  As no shaving brush was available the “piou-piou” in the next bed lathered him with his tooth brush.  The French cooking did not appeal to him, and he grumbled continuously.  The directress of the hospital sent her own cook from her chateau to cater for Mr. Atkins.  An elaborate menu was prepared.  Tommy glanced through it, ordered everything to be removed, and commanded tea and toast.  Toast-making is not a French art and the chateau chef was obliged to remain at the hospital and spend his time carefully preparing the toast and seeing that it was served in good condition.  When Mr. Atkins felt so disposed he would summon a piou-piou to give him a French lesson or else request the various inmates of the ward to sing to him.  He would in turn render that plaintive ditty, “Down by the Old Bull and Bush.”  A nurse who spoke a little English translated his song to the French soldiers!  Whilst not desiring to criticise the rendez-vous selected by their “camerade anglais,” they did not consider that “pres d’un vieux taureau” (near an old bull) was a safe or desirable meeting-place.  When I explained to the nurse that “The Bull and Bush” was a kind of cabaret she hastened from ward to ward to tell the men that after all the Englishman might have selected a worse spot to entertain his girl.  He was at once the joy and the despair of the whole hospital and the nurse had much trouble in consoling the patients when “our English” was removed.

Abbreviated French

When Tommy indulges in the use of the French language he abbreviates it as much as possible.

One hot summer’s day driving from Boulogne to Fort Mahon, half way down a steep hill we came upon two Tommies endeavouring to extract a motor cycle and a side-car from a somewhat difficult position.  They had side-slipped and run into a small tree.  The cycle was on one side and the side-car on the other, and a steel rod between had been rammed right into the wood through the force of the collision.

My three companions and myself endeavoured to help the men to pull out the rod, but the united efforts of the six of us proved unavailing.  We hailed a passing cart and tied the reins around the motor-cycle, but immediately the horse commenced to pull the leather of the reins snapped.  Behind the cart walked a peasant.  Only one adjective can possibly describe him:  he was decidedly “beer-y.”  He made no attempt to help but passed from one Tommy to the other, patting them on their backs, assuring them “that with a little good-will all would be well.”  There was a dangerous glint in the youngest Tommy’s eye, but in the presence of ladies he refrained from putting his thoughts into words.  Finally, his patience evaporating, he suddenly turned on the peasant and shouted at him, “Ong!  Ong!” It took me some time to grasp that this was Tommy’s abbreviated version of “Allez vous en” (Clear out).  In any event it proved quite useless, as he continued to pat the Tommies affectionately and to bombard them with impracticable suggestions.